Assassin's Creed Ravens
by Simon Tolboe Christensen
Summary: Denmark, 12th century - After the Hrafn sees his parents get killed, he swears to take revenge on the men responsible. He is soon involved in an ancient battle between The Assassins and The Templars, and in a civil war amongst three heirs to the Danish throne.
1. The Loss - 1121

The Loss – 1121

Hrafn – Age 11

The sweat from Hrafn's forehead mixed with his tears as they were racing down his face. The smell of ash and burning meat filled his nostrils. Sod made his auburn hair greasy.

'Mother! Father!' Hrafn called out to his parents, but they did not seem to have escaped the _inferno_.

Hrafn was only able to escape because his father had told him to hide in the pigpen. And from there, he could see how his father tried to climb out from beneath the heavy, burning pieces of wood.

He wanted nothing more than to run to his parents' aid, but he couldn't move – frozen in place, his muscles not wanting to do, what his brain told them to.

Hrafn's father had now managed to remove some of the burning wooden poles. He was out, free from the fire – lying on his back on the cold ground. Suddenly Hrafn came to his senses and he ran out from the pigpen, towards his father. But he almost couldn't recognize him. The fire had damaged his body, almost beyond recognition. But he still maintained consciousness.

'He's over here! The boy!' A man shouted from within the darkness of the night. Two other men soon joined him. Hrafn could not see their faces, whether it was because of the dark, the distance or the water in his eyes he didn't know. Maybe it was a combination of it all.

The men drew closer and again, Hrafn was frozen in place – knowing all too well, that these were the men responsible for the fire, and the death of his mother.

'Look… He's still alive,' said the man who had called for the others, 'take care of this problem' – he said as he gestured for one of his men to move forward. And he did. His companion, a man with a big scar from his right ear to the corner of his mouth, around the same age as Hrafn's father, drew his sword from its scabbard. An old iron sword, not a sharp-looking one either – but it was still very deadly. He then spoke to the burned man on the ground:

'Arni Biornsson… Finally _you're _at the pointy end of the blade – as you should be, old friend.'

Even though Arni's body had been destroyed by the fire and he knew that his end was nigh, he still had the courage to look The Scarred Man in the eye.

'I am no friend of yours. Do what you think is right.' Arni barely had time to finish his sentence before the Scarred Man had lifted his sword, and plunged it deep into his victim's chest, piercing the breastbone, with a _stomach-turning crunch._

Hrafn collapsed over his father's body, a stream of tears flowing from his eyes, and his screams flying from his lungs.

'I am sorry for your loss, child' the Man in charge said, before the three men turn around and started to walk away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hrafn saw his father's axe, lying in the ashes of the house. Untouched by the fire. Hrafn saw it as a _sign_; he scrambled over and picked it up. He then charged at the three men, screaming, not only in pain but also with anger. The men turned to see the young boy charging them with the battleaxe, but they didn't see a threat. The Scarred Man simply stepped to the side. Hrafn missed his strike and lost his balance, which he would have regained had it not been for the Scarred Man's fist hitting his face.

As Hrafn was looking up at the Man from the ground, who had now drawn his sword once more, he was certain that this was also his time. Too die with his mother and father by their farmhouse.

_The_ _third man_, who had not said a word until now, then spoke:

'No, don't! He's just a boy, he has not done any harm too the Order…'

'No, not yet Frode – But he will' the Scarred Man replied.

'Æskil please, stop him from doing this. This isn't right!' the Quiet Man said. It was as if Frode had planted a seed of doubt in the Scarred Man's head, for he looked toward the Leader _"Æskil"_.

'Let him live – We've scared him enough to keep him away from _their _Order.' The Leader said.

Hrafn sat by his father's side the rest of the night. He had given up looking for his mother's charred remains, as he figured that they would be nothing more than ash. The house had stopped burning and Hrafn was starting to feel the cold grasp of the night. But he couldn't care less. He kept sitting there by the soulless body. All he could think about was the three men.

Æskil was their leader.

Frode was the quiet one.

And then there was the man with the scarred face. He did not know his name. Not yet.

The sun was now rising again. Hrafn could have sworn the sun was _redder _than usual.

'Hrafn!'

A man came running towards him and his father. The man wore a light brown leather coat over white tunic, a fur hoodie, brown trousers, leather boots and had a long "broken-back seax" strapped to his leather belt. He had blonde hair that reached the tip of his ears as well a moustache that reached down to his jaw. He was 21 years of age. 'My name is Laurentius, but you can call me Lalli'

Hrafn remembered that name. His father had mentioned him once to during a conversation with his mother. Lalli was supposed to be skilled, in what he hadn't heard, and a good man.

'Come with me Hrafn. I knew your father, you can trust me!'


	2. Excerpt from Journal

Excerpt from Journal

"_3. September 1128_

_Lalli took me in when I lost everyone I loved. He taught me in history, and writing – both Futhark and Latin. He taught me in philosophy and combat – armed and unarmed. He taught me a code. A code my father was going to bestow upon me: Vætki ar sannr, a__lþingi ar lofa__ð__ (Nothing is true, everything is permitted). The maxim of our creed. The Assassin's Creed._

_Lalli told me about the war between the Templars and the Ásasonar, as we Assassins are calling ourselves here in Scandinavia – it means "The Sons of the Æsir"._

_He told me about how the Templars seek to dominate and control all lands and men. Take away all freedom. Ten years ago they decided, that they needed the Church as an ally – Through this alliance the Templars became much more powerful. This is why we Assassins fight them, and have done so for millennia. We Ásasonar seek to promote freedom through peace. The king and his son are Templars – His nephew and his nephew's family are supporters of the Assassins. For now, non of them are causing trouble here in Denmark, but the Assassins are fearing an imminent disaster."_


	3. Haraldsted Forest - 7 January 1131

Haraldsted Forest – 7. January 1131

'Why did you invite me out here, cousin?' Asked Knud Lavard.

His cousin Magnus Nilsson, also known as Magnus "The Strong", climbed off his horse.

'I needed to have a word with you.'

'Is it your words? Or the words of your Templar brethren?'

'They are my own, Knud. I know you're not fond of the Templars.'

Before Knud could answer back, Magnus continued:

'But they _did _tell me something – it's quite funny actually. They told me, that you aspire to claim the thrown after my father.'

Knud got surprised. He did not expect Magnus to come with such an accusation, 'Why would I have a desire for the throne? _You _are the son of King Nils!'

'Even though my father also subscribes to the ideals of our Order, he is sure you could make a great leader for the country – I heard him say it with my own ears!'

'In the end I guess it's the king's decision, but I'm perfectly satisfied with being the duke of Schleswig! I am not trying to stir up any trouble Magnus, my next child could be born any day now'

Magnus walked with fast, angry paces towards his cousin as he yelled, 'you are a dirty fucking liar Knud!'

He drew a dagger and slashed it at Knud, cutting him on his left shoulder, giving him with a deep wound. He then shoved him to the ground.

'I will make sure, that you don't get to take my place!'

He put his knife to Knud's throat and jerked his hand backwards, opening his throat. His blood spilled out onto the soil. He died within seconds.

Magnus then climbed back on his horse and rode off, out of Haraldsted Forest.


	4. The Not so Quiet Man - 1131

The Not so Quiet Man – 1131

Hrafn – Age 20

Hedeby, Schleswig. The home of the Danish Assassins.

Hrafn walked into the Assassin headquarters. Wearing a moss-green long-sleeved shirt, with a white tunic over it. It had shorter sleeves and was open in front of his legs. Over the white tunic was a dark brown leather vest, which would offer some degree of protection in combat. And even though Hrafn wasn't a member of the Assassins, Lalli had given him a white cowl.

'Hrafn, it's good to see you'

'You too Lalli, why is it you've called me here?'

'Our spies have found one of the men you seek – the one called _Frode._'

Hrafn's expression suddenly changed. His face that had been so friendly a moment ago was now dark and serious. He remembered The Quiet Man.

'Where?'

'You can find him in Árós. He's a merchant there, selling pots and plates and the like. According to our informants, he's not located far from the entrance.'

'Thank you Lalli, for this favor.'

'It's the least I could do – your father was a friend to me after all.'

After three days ride, Hrafn arrived at the gates of Árós. He was grateful that Lalli had lent him his horse. Lalli called it _Sleipner, _after Odin's nine legged horse.

The gates of Árós where grand, and one of the few ways into the city which was surrounded by a moat 20 metres wide and seven metres tall.

As Hrafn entered though the main gate, the sound of people in the streets intensified. People were happy and, as this city was a main trading central, people were buying food, clothes and other goods. Hrafn walked to the biggest market stall he could see and waited until there was less people standing around the stall. When some of the people finally walked away, and Hrafn could get eyecontact with the salesman, he pulled out a purse, seemingly filled with coins. This got the salesman's attention right away, Hrafn signalled to him to follow him and so he did without question.

When they were a couple of metres from the stall and away from the crowds, Hrafn asked if he knew who some of the other shopkeepers were. The shopkeeper was thrown off guard at this question, as he was expecting Hrafn to buy his wares, and not his knowledge.

'Um, yeah I know a lot of these people, I've been here for 7 years.'

'Do you know a man called Frode, from what I've heard he sells pots, and plates – Does this ring any bells?'

'Well, I only know one Frode. Frode Pottemager.'

'Do you happen to know where I can find him?'

The shopkeeper was starting to notice potential customers walking to his stall only to leave again, as they could not see any salesman. This gave him an idea.

'Well, maybe I do – but I have to earn some coin also…'

Hrafn knew what he meant by that, opened his purse and handed him three coins. That was enough to loosen his tongue as he, after studying the coins for a couple of seconds, told Hrafn that Frode's market stall was to be found right around the corner – only about 100 metres or so from his own stall.

'Thank you, I trust you won't remember this conversation ever took place?'

Hrafn said, as he handed the man the rest of his purse.

'I don't even know what conversation you're talking about, sir.'

As Hrafn started to walk to away, the shopkeepers asked:

'What did you say your name was sir?'

'I didn't.'

As Hrafn approached the street corner he pulled his white hood up over his auburn hair, as to hide his face from unwelcome eyes. When he turned the corner, he saw Frode right away. There wasn't the tiniest bit of doubt in Hrafn's mind, that this was "The Quiet Man" – his mind went straight back to the night in 1121, when his parents had been taken away from him. Hrafn had a hard time comprehending that his vengeance was so close. He was getting closer to him now and Frode had not even looked in his direction. When Hrafn arrived at his stall the man looked at him.

'Anything I can help you with?'

Hrafn looked up at him from under his cowl – the man didn't seem to recognize him.

'Yes… I've been looking for something for a while. Ten years to be exact. I was hoping you could help me.'

'Well of course! Anything to be of service! Now what is it you're looking for?'

He seemed a lot more talkative now, than he did back then.

'Blood.'

Hrafn looked deep into the eyes of Frode, who seemed puzzled and had a grin on his face that could only mean, he thought it was a joke.

'Do you remember; ten years ago… A burning farm, two burning people… A young boy…'

Frode had been looking rather nervous when Hrafn when he started talking, but suddenly his face changed. It changed to the face of fear.

Hrafn's fist connected with Frode's face the second after and he landed on the ground. Hrafn sat down on him and kept hitting him. _One. Two. Three. Four. _Frode's face was filled with blood from his broken nose and open lips.

'No! Please! Stop!'

'Why? Why should I stop after what you and your comrades did?!'

Hrafn grabbed a pot and smashed it over Frode's forehead. And took out his axe. His father's axe.

'I… I didn't know what they were going to do! I didn't know they were gonna… It wasn't what I wanted!'

'Liar! You are a Templar! How could you not know?!'

'I'm not anymore! I left the Templars after that night…'

'Why the sudden change of heart Frode?'

'They told me, that they were going to kill a thief – a murderer… But when I saw you. A little boy… I knew he couldn't have been the lawless man, they said he was… When I confronted them they said, that if I couldn't sacrifice a few people for the safety of others, I should go… And I did. Please don't kill me!'

Hrafn contemplated his choices for a moment. To kill or not to kill?

'I will spare your life Frode Pottemager. But know this: If our paths ever cross again – if you should prove an obstacle… I will not be so kind.'

'Tha—Thank you!'

Hrafn then sheathed his axe, and left Árós.

When Hrafn arrived back in Hedeby, he barely made it inside before Lalli greeted him.

'Hrafn, we have to go.'

'But I just got back from Árós, Lalli. At least let me rest.'

'Knud Lavard is dead. He was a great supporter of The Ásasonar (Assassins). Don't worry it's not far, it's in Schleswig.'

Lalli climbed Sleipner, took the reigns and they were off.

'Seven days… He was born seven days after his father's death…' cried Ingeborg of Novgorod, the widow of Knud Lavard. She was talking about the infant she was holding in her arms.

'We are sorry Ingeborg. Knud's death has been a great loss to us all.' Lalli said.

The widow continued, 'He was really excited to see the birth of his next child… I'll call him Valdemar… That's what Knud wanted to name him…'

Lalli realized that no matter what he said to the crying woman, he couldn't get through to her.

'We will take our leave now… The _Thul _(Old Wise Man, Mentor)will give you a visit later, to se how you're doing.'

The two Assassins then left her home.

'When am I to meet the Thul, Lalli?' Hrafn asked.

'You will meet him when you are indicted to The Assassins – but you have to prove yourself first.'

'Prove myself? I carried out my business in Árós!'

'But you have not yet killed a man, on the orders of the Ásasonar!'

'Then tell me to go kill someone! Anyone, so that I can prove myself worthy of the Ásasonar!'

'We only kill those who deserve it. We are here to ensure peace and freedom Hrafn – _halda ykkarr brandr frá kjótan af ein saklauss _(stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent). Always remember the tenants of the order!'

Hrafn bowed his head and said, 'I am sorry Lalli, I did not mean to be disrespectful'.

'It is alright Hrafn, go and get some rest.'


End file.
